onto his back, his head lolls in my direction.
I gasp and lose my balance.
It’s me.
I’m looking into my own eyes, staring at my own face.
My own dead face.
Grayish skin. A blank, deathly stare.
The blood is coming from a gaping wound in his chest, visible through the torn fabric.
I reel backward as his eyes slowly dial into focus and direct themselves at me—a piercing, knowing stare.
Then, he grins and pushes himself onto all fours, and begins crawling toward me.
Scrambling as quickly as I can, I make it to the access hole and swing my legs down, but I accidentally kick the top of the stepladder, sending it toppling to the floor.
The figure hasn’t slowed, his wide smile revealing wickedly sharp teeth.
That’s not you. It’s not you.
But it is!
With no other choice, and trying my best to avoid landing on the ladder, I drop through the hole to the floor of the hallway.
Despite my best efforts, I crash down clumsily onto the ladder’s edge, then roll to the side, and smack hard against the wall.
Thankfully, it’s my good shoulder that takes the impact, but still, I need a moment to assess myself. The ankle seems oka y— so does the shoulder.
I can still hear movement on the floorboards above me as the corpse that looks just like me moves toward the access hole.
With my heart thundering in my chest, I stare up at the opening, expecting that at any moment that thing will appear and pitch itself down on top of me.
I wait.
The sounds stop.
A square of black.
Just a square of black.
It’s a blur. It’s not real. You’re not dead.
I catch myself holding my breath as I wait, but nothing happens.
The creature doesn’t lurch through the hole at me.
But as I’m getting to my feet, I realize that I left the sling for my shoulder up there in the attic.
CHAPTER TEN
I can’t go the next few days without wearing my sling. Mom will notice right away that I don’t have it.
Which means I need to go back up there.
Keeping a watchful eye on the hole, I reposition the ladder and slowly climb it.
When I get to the ceiling, I stop before poking my head through.
Listen.
Nothing.
It might be waiting right there for you, right by the edge.
But I don’t have a choice. I have to get that sling.
I take another tentative step up and peer across the attic floorboards.
I don’t see anything.
But I do hear something.
Not from the attic, but from down below, in the garage.
The door rattling open.
Mom and Dad are back from running errands.
My sling lies just out of reach so I need to step onto the top of the ladder again, as I did earlier, to get it. Balancing somewhat precariously and using my good arm, I leverage myself up, edge forward, and grab the sling.
But, as I pull it toward me, I can feel something tugging at the other end. There, in the air before me, the sling straightens out as I lean back, trying to yank it free.
There’s nothing there.
Yet something is pulling on it.
Below me, in the garage, the door closes.
Suddenly, whatever has snatched up the other end of the sling lets go. I topple backward, barely managing to steady my foot on the ladder.
I clamber down far enough to slide the panel back into place as the kitchen door opens and my parents come in, talking harshly with each other.
“All I’m saying is, you don’t need to be so blunt with me all the time,” my mom tells him.
“I’m just trying to be honest. Are you telling me that’s not what you want?”
“Of course I want you to be honest; it’s just that sometimes you have to look out for the other person’s feelings rather than just bludgeoning them with the truth.”
“I’m not bludgeoning anyone with anything.”
Then they move into another room and I can’t catch the rest of the conversation.
With them here in the house I won’t be able to get the ladder back to the garage without being seen, and I’m not too excited about the idea of explaining what’s been happening up here.
So, instead, I fold
I gasp and lose my balance.
It’s me.
I’m looking into my own eyes, staring at my own face.
My own dead face.
Grayish skin. A blank, deathly stare.
The blood is coming from a gaping wound in his chest, visible through the torn fabric.
I reel backward as his eyes slowly dial into focus and direct themselves at me—a piercing, knowing stare.
Then, he grins and pushes himself onto all fours, and begins crawling toward me.
Scrambling as quickly as I can, I make it to the access hole and swing my legs down, but I accidentally kick the top of the stepladder, sending it toppling to the floor.
The figure hasn’t slowed, his wide smile revealing wickedly sharp teeth.
That’s not you. It’s not you.
But it is!
With no other choice, and trying my best to avoid landing on the ladder, I drop through the hole to the floor of the hallway.
Despite my best efforts, I crash down clumsily onto the ladder’s edge, then roll to the side, and smack hard against the wall.
Thankfully, it’s my good shoulder that takes the impact, but still, I need a moment to assess myself. The ankle seems oka y— so does the shoulder.
I can still hear movement on the floorboards above me as the corpse that looks just like me moves toward the access hole.
With my heart thundering in my chest, I stare up at the opening, expecting that at any moment that thing will appear and pitch itself down on top of me.
I wait.
The sounds stop.
A square of black.
Just a square of black.
It’s a blur. It’s not real. You’re not dead.
I catch myself holding my breath as I wait, but nothing happens.
The creature doesn’t lurch through the hole at me.
But as I’m getting to my feet, I realize that I left the sling for my shoulder up there in the attic.
CHAPTER TEN
I can’t go the next few days without wearing my sling. Mom will notice right away that I don’t have it.
Which means I need to go back up there.
Keeping a watchful eye on the hole, I reposition the ladder and slowly climb it.
When I get to the ceiling, I stop before poking my head through.
Listen.
Nothing.
It might be waiting right there for you, right by the edge.
But I don’t have a choice. I have to get that sling.
I take another tentative step up and peer across the attic floorboards.
I don’t see anything.
But I do hear something.
Not from the attic, but from down below, in the garage.
The door rattling open.
Mom and Dad are back from running errands.
My sling lies just out of reach so I need to step onto the top of the ladder again, as I did earlier, to get it. Balancing somewhat precariously and using my good arm, I leverage myself up, edge forward, and grab the sling.
But, as I pull it toward me, I can feel something tugging at the other end. There, in the air before me, the sling straightens out as I lean back, trying to yank it free.
There’s nothing there.
Yet something is pulling on it.
Below me, in the garage, the door closes.
Suddenly, whatever has snatched up the other end of the sling lets go. I topple backward, barely managing to steady my foot on the ladder.
I clamber down far enough to slide the panel back into place as the kitchen door opens and my parents come in, talking harshly with each other.
“All I’m saying is, you don’t need to be so blunt with me all the time,” my mom tells him.
“I’m just trying to be honest. Are you telling me that’s not what you want?”
“Of course I want you to be honest; it’s just that sometimes you have to look out for the other person’s feelings rather than just bludgeoning them with the truth.”
“I’m not bludgeoning anyone with anything.”
Then they move into another room and I can’t catch the rest of the conversation.
With them here in the house I won’t be able to get the ladder back to the garage without being seen, and I’m not too excited about the idea of explaining what’s been happening up here.
So, instead, I fold
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